tunatoge

[tunatoge]

forks and forts - aged up!m. fushiguro x reader

contents: megumi takes care of you

a/n: im in the middle of a five page paper for a class so i wanted to post a lil fluff to help me get my thoughts under control o< -< he honestly might b a lil ooc but i hope u like it n e way

you let out a happy sigh as you sink into the bathtub, nose gently kissing the suds that fill the top layer of the tub. as you gently slide back upwards, you tilt your head to your right, resting your ear on the cold porcelain of the garden tub. megumi stares at you from the bathroom door, his hair pushed up with a silly bear themed headband you’d bought him months ago. he flicks the bathroom light on and you shrink back into the lukewarm bath water, squinting as your eyes adjust. you scrunch your nose as he leans over the bathroom counter and blows out your newly purchased bath and body works candle, sending dainty tendrils of smoke into the air.

“how long are you gonna’ be in here?” megumi looks at his reflection in the mirror and squints, immediately reaching for the container of q-tips to his left.

you sigh as you sit up properly and lean over your knees, you knock your forehead into your legs before turning your head to look at him, your cheek pressed snuggly against your legs still. cold air blows against your wet skin and you shiver in the tub. you watch as megumi brings the q-tips to his cheek and presses them together on a pimple, his brows furrowed in disgust and concentration over his ministrations.

you don’t know what time it is, but you’ve an inkling it’s been over your usual hour–especially after seeing megumi come into the bathroom. he knows to leave you alone when you’ve made yourself cozy in the tub.

“i put your takeout in the oven,” he says, glancing over at you as he tosses the q-tips in the trash and washes his hands. he digs around behind the bathroom mirror for a second before pulling out acne patches and a pair of neon pink tweezers, pressing a patch onto his cheek with a shrug. “i also made a fort in the living room and put on your favorite movie… wanna join me?” he turns to you, his cheeks tinted pink at your hunched over form. he rubs at his nape as he looks at you, and his blue eyes hold admiration; the only time an active shine takes over his pretty blue eyes is when he’s looking at you. your stomach and heart do a flip in tandem and you bite back a smile. you silently thank every god you know for megumi and the way that he cares for you.

you sigh again, this time filled with giddy, child-like love, “yeah, but i need to wash my hair first…”

megumi lets out a huff, and if you hadn’t known him better you would've thought he was annoyed with you, but you know he doesn’t mean it in a mean way. especially when he immediately pads over to you and drops down to his knees next to the tub, “i can do that,” he says somewhat monotonously and you smile at him, fondness overtaking your features and a breathy ‘thank you’ on your lips.

he rolls up his sleeves and dips his hands into the bath, grunting at how cold the water is, before reaching for the bottle of strawberry scented shampoo. you watch as he flips the top open, attempting to squirt a generous amount onto his hand. the bottle makes a sound as he shakes it up and down and squeezes. you giggle at the noise.

“i’ll buy more tomorrow,” megumi says more to himself than to you and closes the bottle, satisfied with the amount squirted out into his open palm.

he sets the empty bottle down next to him to rinse it out and put it in recycling later and sets to work his lithe fingers into your hair, scratching at your scalp. you let out a hum of approval and his face warms again at the little sound.

“thank you, gumi,” you say happily as he dips a hand into the water and stands to grab the shower head.

“yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, bringing the shower head down and turning the water on. he lets you run your fingers under the faucet to approve of the temperature before pulling the little latch. “can you turn around?” he asks and you nod, shifting around in the tub so your back is to the faucet.

the spray of water against your scalp is warm as megumi runs his fingers through your hair, scratching softly against your head as he cleans the suds out of your hair. you close your eyes and hum quietly, opening your eyes briefly when megumi asks that you hold onto the shower head. you agree silently, taking it into your hand while megumi lathers your hair in a generous amount of conditioner. he runs his fingers through your hair, making sure to get all of your hair.

“thank you,” you say again when he finally takes back the shower head. he huffs out a laugh as he rinses the conditioner from your hair, lifting and lowering your hair to get it all out.

by the time he’s finished, the water in the tub is soapier than before and significantly warmer. megumi helps you out of the water, careful to make sure you don’t slip. once he’s assured you’re out of the tub safely, he reaches into the foamy water and pulls the stopper, letting the liquid drain noisily. you’re in awe with the way he moves, so smoothly next to you. he helps you dress after he wipes his soapy hands and forearm and then draws you out to the living room where his fort lays waiting.

“get comfy,” he tells you, watching as you curl up in the pile of pillows and blankets thrown on the floor. the coffee table is pressed against the far wall and megumi reassures you that he’ll put it back once the two of you are done.

megumi leaves for a moment to grab your food for you, you assume, so you look for a movie. you think you’ve seen nearly everything that any streaming service offers but you still look. in the end, megumi is going to pick—always some movie recommended to him by yuuji or gojo. it’s always something good, too.

“you find anything?” megumi asks as he sits down next to you, balancing a to-go box in his arms. you sit up and wrap your blanket around his shoulders, pulling him into you tightly.

“trade me?” you ask, pawing at your food with a blanket-wrapped hand. megumi hands you the container and takes up the tv remote, his dark blue eyes on the tv as he easily navigates to a movie. you hum in delight at the movie he puts on, the sound turning a little sour when the audio blares too loudly. megumi lowers it before you can ask.

you cozy up into megumi even further and open your to-go container, pleased to find that steam emits from the cheap chinese food inside. without having to ask, he’d microwaved your food for you.

“thank you,” you tell him around a mouthful of warm noodles, your eyes trained on him instead of the actors on screen.

megumi looks at you and the admiration comes back. he smiles small and shyly, nearly impossible to see in the dark. “anything for you,” he promises you.

you knock your knee into his under the blankets and he offers his food to you, letting you take a piece of chicken because like he said—he’d do anything for you.

[tunatoge]

forks and forts - aged up!m. fushiguro x reader

contents: megumi takes care of you

a/n: im in the middle of a five page paper for a class so i wanted to post a lil fluff to help me get my thoughts under control o< -< he honestly might b a lil ooc but i hope u like it n e way

you let out a happy sigh as you sink into the bathtub, nose gently kissing the suds that fill the top layer of the tub. as you gently slide back upwards, you tilt your head to your right, resting your ear on the cold porcelain of the garden tub. megumi stares at you from the bathroom door, his hair pushed up with a silly bear themed headband you’d bought him months ago. he flicks the bathroom light on and you shrink back into the lukewarm bath water, squinting as your eyes adjust. you scrunch your nose as he leans over the bathroom counter and blows out your newly purchased bath and body works candle, sending dainty tendrils of smoke into the air.

“how long are you gonna’ be in here?” megumi looks at his reflection in the mirror and squints, immediately reaching for the container of q-tips to his left.

you sigh as you sit up properly and lean over your knees, you knock your forehead into your legs before turning your head to look at him, your cheek pressed snuggly against your legs still. cold air blows against your wet skin and you shiver in the tub. you watch as megumi brings the q-tips to his cheek and presses them together on a pimple, his brows furrowed in disgust and concentration over his ministrations.

you don’t know what time it is, but you’ve an inkling it’s been over your usual hour–especially after seeing megumi come into the bathroom. he knows to leave you alone when you’ve made yourself cozy in the tub.

“i put your takeout in the oven,” he says, glancing over at you as he tosses the q-tips in the trash and washes his hands. he digs around behind the bathroom mirror for a second before pulling out acne patches and a pair of neon pink tweezers, pressing a patch onto his cheek with a shrug. “i also made a fort in the living room and put on your favorite movie… wanna join me?” he turns to you, his cheeks tinted pink at your hunched over form. he rubs at his nape as he looks at you, and his blue eyes hold admiration; the only time an active shine takes over his pretty blue eyes is when he’s looking at you. your stomach and heart do a flip in tandem and you bite back a smile. you silently thank every god you know for megumi and the way that he cares for you.

you sigh again, this time filled with giddy, child-like love, “yeah, but i need to wash my hair first…”

megumi lets out a huff, and if you hadn’t known him better you would've thought he was annoyed with you, but you know he doesn’t mean it in a mean way. especially when he immediately pads over to you and drops down to his knees next to the tub, “i can do that,” he says somewhat monotonously and you smile at him, fondness overtaking your features and a breathy ‘thank you’ on your lips.

he rolls up his sleeves and dips his hands into the bath, grunting at how cold the water is, before reaching for the bottle of strawberry scented shampoo. you watch as he flips the top open, attempting to squirt a generous amount onto his hand. the bottle makes a sound as he shakes it up and down and squeezes. you giggle at the noise.

“i’ll buy more tomorrow,” megumi says more to himself than to you and closes the bottle, satisfied with the amount squirted out into his open palm.

he sets the empty bottle down next to him to rinse it out and put it in recycling later and sets to work his lithe fingers into your hair, scratching at your scalp. you let out a hum of approval and his face warms again at the little sound.

“thank you, gumi,” you say happily as he dips a hand into the water and stands to grab the shower head.

“yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, bringing the shower head down and turning the water on. he lets you run your fingers under the faucet to approve of the temperature before pulling the little latch. “can you turn around?” he asks and you nod, shifting around in the tub so your back is to the faucet.

the spray of water against your scalp is warm as megumi runs his fingers through your hair, scratching softly against your head as he cleans the suds out of your hair. you close your eyes and hum quietly, opening your eyes briefly when megumi asks that you hold onto the shower head. you agree silently, taking it into your hand while megumi lathers your hair in a generous amount of conditioner. he runs his fingers through your hair, making sure to get all of your hair.

“thank you,” you say again when he finally takes back the shower head. he huffs out a laugh as he rinses the conditioner from your hair, lifting and lowering your hair to get it all out.

by the time he’s finished, the water in the tub is soapier than before and significantly warmer. megumi helps you out of the water, careful to make sure you don’t slip. once he’s assured you’re out of the tub safely, he reaches into the foamy water and pulls the stopper, letting the liquid drain noisily. you’re in awe with the way he moves, so smoothly next to you. he helps you dress after he wipes his soapy hands and forearm and then draws you out to the living room where his fort lays waiting.

“get comfy,” he tells you, watching as you curl up in the pile of pillows and blankets thrown on the floor. the coffee table is pressed against the far wall and megumi reassures you that he’ll put it back once the two of you are done.

megumi leaves for a moment to grab your food for you, you assume, so you look for a movie. you think you’ve seen nearly everything that any streaming service offers but you still look. in the end, megumi is going to pick—always some movie recommended to him by yuuji or gojo. it’s always something good, too.

“you find anything?” megumi asks as he sits down next to you, balancing a to-go box in his arms. you sit up and wrap your blanket around his shoulders, pulling him into you tightly.

“trade me?” you ask, pawing at your food with a blanket-wrapped hand. megumi hands you the container and takes up the tv remote, his dark blue eyes on the tv as he easily navigates to a movie. you hum in delight at the movie he puts on, the sound turning a little sour when the audio blares too loudly. megumi lowers it before you can ask.

you cozy up into megumi even further and open your to-go container, pleased to find that steam emits from the cheap chinese food inside. without having to ask, he’d microwaved your food for you.

“thank you,” you tell him around a mouthful of warm noodles, your eyes trained on him instead of the actors on screen.

megumi looks at you and the admiration comes back. he smiles small and shyly, nearly impossible to see in the dark. “anything for you,” he promises you.

you knock your knee into his under the blankets and he offers his food to you, letting you take a piece of chicken because like he said—he’d do anything for you.

#vians.scribbs #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fluff #jjk x reader fluff

[tunatoge]

totally forgot this fic existed but damn.. still sorta proud of this one

only human - satosugu x reader

content: GN!reader, mentions of nudity (reader and geto are shirtless, no actual smut), mentions of scarring, sort of angsty with a fluffy ending, gojo realizes how mortal you and geto are.

the first time gojo sees you and geto topless after riko’s death, he’s astounded at how human the two of you are. the both of you are littered in scars: the entirety of geto’s torso is marred with a large, puffy ‘x’ and your torso is covered in scars of varying sizes. the both of you seem indifferent of each others’ scars but gojo can’t help but frown at the way the two of you show so many signs of mortality while his body is completely untouched.

you bring your shirt up to your nose and sniff it cautiously, pulling away with a little curl of your lip. as you toss it into your hamper you look over at gojo. he absentmindedly frowns as his blue eyes rake over your body.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, sliding a tank top over your head and stepping out of your dirty pants. you kick them into your hamper, narrowly kicking geto in the process.

gojo sighs as he flops down on your twin sized mattress, his feet dangling off the edge as he watches intently as you and geto change out of your summer uniforms. he’s completely shirtless and in a pair of striped navy shorts, his other clothes left in a heap by the foot of your bed.

“nothing,” he says, turning his reddening cheeks into your sheets and enveloping himself in the scent of detergent and your cheap perfume.

geto frowns as he digs through your closet and pulls out one of his stolen t-shirts. “is it because of the scars?” he asks as he eyes the shirt in his hands. “hey, when did you take this?” he turns to you as you dig around in a plastic drawer for shorts.

you peek up at geto, taking in his bare torso as he runs a hand along his lower stomach and scratches an area above his belly button. you glance at the shirt he’s holding out to you.

“i dunno.” geto rolls his eyes as he takes the shirt in both of his hands and flips it back and forth. “don’t think it’s gonna fit you anymore,” you say as you give up looking for a pair of clean shorts and pounce on gojo in your tank top and underwear. “guess you gotta go shirtless, that’s too bad,” you sarcastically lament, giggling to yourself.

geto rolls his eyes and watches as you roll over onto your side and prop your head up in your hand, watching as he tosses the shirt back into your closet and joins you and gojo on your overly small bed.

“so, why’re the scars bothering you, pretty boy?” you ask after geto lays down next to you. you roll on top of gojo’s bare back as you shape your hands into a telescope-like shape and stare up at the popcorn ceiling. “are they sexy?” you stick your tongue out as you trace your hand telescope along the water damaged ceiling.

geto chuckles tiredly, running his hand along your legs and pinching at the skin of your inner thigh. you smack his hand away before flipping over, forgetting about your little hand telescope and water damaged ceiling. you tuck your head into the crook of gojo’s neck, blowing cold air into the shell of his ear before pressing a kiss to his neck.

“do they bother you guys?” gojo asks as he turns his head and watches geto trace aimless shapes on your bare skin, his hand inching closer and closer to your ass. “do they still hurt?”

you let out a surprised hum before pulling away from gojo’s ear, “well… not really,” you say. “i think they’re kinda cool but sometimes the really big ones—the ones that were caused by really bad things like he-who-shall-not-be-named—give off some sorta’ phantom pain.” you twirl gojo’s snowy hair in between your fingers, ignoring the way geto fully kneads his fingers into your ass.

“sometimes the one on my chest hurts,” geto admits as he stops squeezing your bum and pulls you off of gojo and onto him. he wraps his arms tightly around your waist as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, leaving a playful bite on the expanse of skin. “but i’ve always had y/n come and help me through it. it makes it more bearable that way.”

you shove geto’s face with a playful groan, “but wait… don’t you also have a scar, sato’? from when you first used rct?” you look over at gojo as he scoots closer to the edge and lets you roll into the small space between him and geto.

gojo shakes his head. “no, it vanished after my fight with toji.” you reach forward and brush his hair above his eyebrow upwards.

“huh,” you say, “it really is gone.” you settle his hair back down and tuck a strand behind his ear. you glance at geto who watches you fondly through tired eyes. “do you wish it stayed?” you ask as you turn to look at gojo again.

gojo swallows. no one asked him that when they found out his reverse cursed technique didn’t leave scars, they always told him he was lucky that his pretty face wasn’t marred or ruined.

“i don’t know,” he says, “do you wish it stayed?” he’s entirely ready for you to say no, that you’re glad it didn’t stay and ruin his face.

“mm… maybe a little,” you say instead, quickly glancing behind you when geto presses his palm into your shirt. he grins into your shoulder as you huff and turn back to gojo. “it would’ve proved that you’re human just like me, suguru, shoko, nanami… y’know?”

gojo nods slowly as he takes in your words.

“scar or no scar, you’re still human anyways, satoru,” geto says as he looks over your shoulder at gojo. he pulls his hand out from under your tank top and reaches forward, gently pushing gojo’s bare shoulder. “you’re just like the rest of us, even if you’re the strongest.”

you nod in agreement as you hike your leg over gojo’s hip, wiggling into a more comfortable position. “you love like a human, too,” you say without thinking, cuddling into gojo’s chest and closing your eyes as the summer heat overtakes your senses.

gojo sharply inhales at your words as he reaches up and gently slides his hands under the back of your tank top, rubbing circles into your skin as geto leans over and presses a soft kiss to gojo’s forehead where the scar should be.

“you’re still human, satoru, just like the rest of us.”

[tunatoge]

hii! Hope you’re having a great day! Could I request a fic about gojo and reader taking care of megumi but they get into a little fight one day (maybe one was jealous or something idk lol) and megumi kind of feels like he has to pick sides and goes with the reader. But she sees how it affects him and they make up. Basically a little angst with fluff haha

ahhh i’m soo sorry for getting to this soo late!! uni is a nightmare 🫠🫠 n e way i hope u enjoy! :)

pairing: g. satoru x reader, angst to fluff

contents: mom and dad are fighting again :( mean!gojo and mean! reader, gumi cries

megumi’s little mind is in turmoil.

he sits with his hands tightly curled in his lap, buckled tightly into the little car seat in your black sedan. he knows you’re upset, and he knows you’re upset with gojo. he can tell in the way your hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel and by how quiet the car is without the radio playing.

not only that, but he knows by how laid back gojo is in the passenger seat, his lanky knees pressed into his chest to make sure tsumiki behind him has enough leg room even though she’s half his height.

the stupid argument was days old by now, something about gojo refusing to fess up to shrinking an entire load of laundry—megumi can’t even remember if gojo had shrunk the clothes or accidentally mixed them and dyed all of them.

“satoru,” you grit as you turn into the grocery store parking lot. megumi’s little tumultuous thoughts tear at your tone. “go back inside and just return the item.”

gojo groans and reaches backward for the aforementioned item, a stupid already broken tupperware he’d bought because of course he didn’t know it was broken.

“maybe if you hadn’t thrown the damn thing into the cart it wouldn’t have been broken,” gojo easily retorted.

megumi thinks his brain might explode.

“we didn’t need another one, satoru!”

“then shove it up your ass—“

megumi covers his ears and wails. his head hurts and the sounds around him are too much, too loud and too hurtful he can’t even think. he wants it to stop.

“please stop,” he mumbles, his hands pressed firmly to his ears to muffle the arguing. “i don’t care who’s wrong or who’s right, i want it to stop!”

silence fills the car as megumi cries, you and gojo sat pointedly glaring at each other and mouths agape from the arguing cut short. surprisingly, gojo speaks up first, his tone softer and more gojo-like and less mean.

“i’ll return the tupperware.”

megumi slowly uncovers his ears.

“i’m sorry for getting upset,” gojo says to you, refusing to meet your eyes. “and i'm sorry that i left the clothes too long in the wash.”

you sigh and megumi watches as you lean across the middle console to lean your body into gojo’s. he easily wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“i forgive you,” megumi hears you mumble into gojo’s chest.

you pull away and turn to megumi and tsumiki in the backseat, your hand propped onto the back of gojo’s seat so you can turn even further. “we’re sorry for yelling,” you tell them and megumi’s little heart soars. “now… let’s go in and return that tupperware and get some ice cream, yeah?”

megumi’s little heart goes from soaring to bursting with excitement, because he’s the reason you and gojo stopped fighting. and because he gets ice cream.

[tunatoge]

ty for the tag, ur amazing :,)

gonna do this quickly and come back another day to link em all but here we go!!

name a fic you loved writing the most

oof.. i REALLY like all of my gojo x reader found family stuff w gumi and tsumiki but id have to go with little lunch mishaps !! :,) i had such a fun time writing it

name a fic others loved but you didn’t care for as much

ooh dont shoot me for this but take a slice i think its my top liked fic atm and i honestly dont like it that much :( i had a great time writing it tbh i liked the rawness to it but im just not too good with writing that sorta gut wrenching sadness

name a fic you had the most fun writing

ok for sure it’s movie night and i KNOW it’s a drabble but i had such a goofy time with that one omg it’s just so goofy and i love it

name a fic that you’re most proud of

okayokay i gotta say little biker but only the first part LMAO i love the beginning to that fic like it’s insane i love how i wrote it and i can just imagine it all and honestly the fic gets a little more kudos because it reminded me of when i was learning to bike hehe

name a fic that you wish had gotten more recognition

i’m gonna go with like the branch of a tree and i know that it’s one of my first fics and super super rough but i rly liked it and i rly like sugu :( also my crocheting drabble w him is :( i miss him

name your happiest/saddest/most comedic fics

okayokay let’s do this >:)

happiest: ermm honestly i think majority of my satoru and reader family stuff but uhh maybe little lunch mishap ? i know there’s some sorta like mundane quality to it but idk its cute its goofy its domestic i think its happy

saddest: probably take a slice it’s not like super sad but yk there’s some sad undertones in it

most comedic: ONE AGAIN going three for three it’s gotta be movie night gojo’s eyes GLOW AND I STAND BY IT

phew!! oki no pressure tags:

@sdfgderp @just-jordie-things + n e one else :) happy writing!

Spread love to fanfic writers! 🤍 Answer these questions about your fanfics then send this to 5 other fanfic writers

Name a fic you loved writing the most.

Name a fic that others loved but you didn't care for as much.

Name a fic you had the most fun writing.

Name a fic that you are the most proud of.

Name a fic that you wish had gotten more recognition.

Name your happiest/saddest/most comedic fics!

HI LEE thank you for sending me this!! time to deep dive into half a year of writing lmao

Name a fic you loved writing the most.

Fake Wedding Date Sakusa - i remember this was one of the first times i wrote for kiyoomi and also one of the first times in a while where my heart was actually racing as i was writing it LOL but seriously he is the blueprint for protective, attentive boyfriend

Name a fic that others loved but you didn't care for as much.

blood moonlit, must be counterfeit - don't get me wrong!! I like this fic, but writing it was kinda hard because it didn't come to me as easily as bakugo fics usually do. rushed romantic interactions without a lot of exposition aren't my forte, so cramming in a makeout session at the end felt off. but i'm glad everyone liked it nonetheless !

Name a fic you had the most fun writing.

Most definitely No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you) - this fic was when i really started liking writing banter and continuing the worldbuilding from the first fic was fun :)

Name a fic that you are the most proud of.

Beach Day (End Game series) - i am sooo proud of this entire series but this chapter in particular is my favorite of all time. it felt like a perfect culmination of the romantic tension established thus far, and the implication of former pro!reader made it even sweeter

Name a fic that you wish had gotten more recognition.

holy shit I Think He Knows - if you're a kiri lover you're literally going to adore this LMAO i actually really liked writing this concept and i was actually dying (/j) by the end of it

Name your happiest/saddest/most comedic fics!

Happiest: life's no fun without a good scare it's a halloween fic but it's still one of the happiest things i've written and i love it <33 Saddest: uhh like any of the suguru pieces, but i think Back to December is the saddest Most comedic: long story short I LOVE DRUNK ATSUMU

no pressure tags!

@seiwas @andypantsx3 @stsgluver @tunatoge + anyone else who would like to join :)))

[tunatoge]

OMFG, am I seeing requests open??

Bf gojo satoru. Dressing up gojo, trying makeup on him, putting him pigtails, braids. he's your doll! :D

ahh hehe this is a GREAT idea omg i hope u don’t mind that i did this in a quick headcanon bullet point sorta thing

pairing: g. satoru x reader, fluff

gojo is SUCH a girl’s girl, like he would practically die if you did his makeup. he already owns some small products like concealer and lip gloss and grins sooo big when you ask him what kind of look he’s going for. will do face masks and pore strips, beauty is pain and satoru lives by that shit.

will gossip with you. the two of you are caught up on the drama going down at jujutech, it lowkey scares the students with how much you guys know. the two of you make a whole date out of it, like i’m talking snacks and comfy pjs and a show going on in the background. yall just talk MAD shit too, esp about the higher ups because, “ewww did you see what gakuganji was doing yesterday?” “oh my, god, yeah—and why does he stink so much?”

loves to dress up with you. matches outfits with you whenever you guys go out and loves to carry your bag for you even without you asking. would match outfits with you ANYWHERE, even on the subway. if you just ask, he’ll do it for sure. even makes jokes that you guys are matching at jujutech because, “we’re wearing the same color, we look so cute!”

his hair isn’t the longest ever but he’ll let you do whatever you want with it. he trusts that you’ll fix it after you mess it up. loves it when you put his bangs in a little pony tail at the top of his head because he gets forehead kisses from you.

DEFINITELY trusts you to fix up his undercut. in fact, you’re the ONLY person who gets to fix up his undercut. he is not going near any barber with you around. you nicked him once and you felt so bad and he faked dying just to tease you and you cried. he stopped doing that after.

has asked your if he should grow out his hair because he loves it soo much when you play with it. he tried for a few months and got so annoyed with the awkward phase he had you cut it again. you told him after the entire ordeal you would’ve played with his hair anyway if he’d just asked and he pouted because, “baaaabe… why didn’t you just say that… :(“

#vians.scribbs #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #vians.asks

[tunatoge]

hii! Hope you’re having a great day! Could I request a fic about gojo and reader taking care of megumi but they get into a little fight one day (maybe one was jealous or something idk lol) and megumi kind of feels like he has to pick sides and goes with the reader. But she sees how it affects him and they make up. Basically a little angst with fluff haha

ahhh i’m soo sorry for getting to this soo late!! uni is a nightmare 🫠🫠 n e way i hope u enjoy! :)

pairing: g. satoru x reader, angst to fluff

contents: mom and dad are fighting again :( mean!gojo and mean! reader, gumi cries

megumi’s little mind is in turmoil.

he sits with his hands tightly curled in his lap, buckled tightly into the little car seat in your black sedan. he knows you’re upset, and he knows you’re upset with gojo. he can tell in the way your hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel and by how quiet the car is without the radio playing.

not only that, but he knows by how laid back gojo is in the passenger seat, his lanky knees pressed into his chest to make sure tsumiki behind him has enough leg room even though she’s half his height.

the stupid argument was days old by now, something about gojo refusing to fess up to shrinking an entire load of laundry—megumi can’t even remember if gojo had shrunk the clothes or accidentally mixed them and dyed all of them.

“satoru,” you grit as you turn into the grocery store parking lot. megumi’s little tumultuous thoughts tear at your tone. “go back inside and just return the item.”

gojo groans and reaches backward for the aforementioned item, a stupid already broken tupperware he’d bought because of course he didn’t know it was broken.

“maybe if you hadn’t thrown the damn thing into the cart it wouldn’t have been broken,” gojo easily retorted.

megumi thinks his brain might explode.

“we didn’t need another one, satoru!”

“then shove it up your ass—“

megumi covers his ears and wails. his head hurts and the sounds around him are too much, too loud and too hurtful he can’t even think. he wants it to stop.

“please stop,” he mumbles, his hands pressed firmly to his ears to muffle the arguing. “i don’t care who’s wrong or who’s right, i want it to stop!”

silence fills the car as megumi cries, you and gojo sat pointedly glaring at each other and mouths agape from the arguing cut short. surprisingly, gojo speaks up first, his tone softer and more gojo-like and less mean.

“i’ll return the tupperware.”

megumi slowly uncovers his ears.

“i’m sorry for getting upset,” gojo says to you, refusing to meet your eyes. “and i'm sorry that i left the clothes too long in the wash.”

you sigh and megumi watches as you lean across the middle console to lean your body into gojo’s. he easily wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“i forgive you,” megumi hears you mumble into gojo’s chest.

you pull away and turn to megumi and tsumiki in the backseat, your hand propped onto the back of gojo’s seat so you can turn even further. “we’re sorry for yelling,” you tell them and megumi’s little heart soars. “now… let’s go in and return that tupperware and get some ice cream, yeah?”

megumi’s little heart goes from soaring to bursting with excitement, because he’s the reason you and gojo stopped fighting. and because he gets ice cream.

#vians.scribbs #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #vians.asks

[tunatoge]

suguru x reader drabble

a/n: i wrote this a little while back when i'd strained my wrist from crocheting :,) i think sugu would srsly appreciate the thought and love that goes into a crocheted garment

“when am i the prettiest to you?” 

suguru looks over at you as you crochet on the couch, knees tucked under your body as your fingers work yarn into stitches over and over. 

“what?” he asks as you finish off another granny square and reach for a purple skein of yarn that you’d picked out because it reminded you of his eyes. 

you work the yarn over your hand to create a magic circle, “y’know,” you say, bringing your crochet hook to your other hand, “when do you think i look the prettiest?” 

suguru thumbs the pages of his book, watching as you deftly begin to crochet the beginnings of another granny square for your latest project. 

“right now,” he says decidedly, smiling to himself as he turns back to his book. you giggle and he perks at the sound, bringing his hand up to his mouth to cover the wide grin that pulls at his lips.

[tunatoge]

suguru x reader drabble

a/n: i wrote this a little while back when i'd strained my wrist from crocheting :,) i think sugu would srsly appreciate the thought and love that goes into a crocheted garment

“when am i the prettiest to you?” 

suguru looks over at you as you crochet on the couch, knees tucked under your body as your fingers work yarn into stitches over and over. 

“what?” he asks as you finish off another granny square and reach for a purple skein of yarn that you’d picked out because it reminded you of his eyes. 

you work the yarn over your hand to create a magic circle, “y’know,” you say, bringing your crochet hook to your other hand, “when do you think i look the prettiest?” 

suguru thumbs the pages of his book, watching as you deftly begin to crochet the beginnings of another granny square for your latest project. 

“right now,” he says decidedly, smiling to himself as he turns back to his book. you giggle and he perks at the sound, bringing his hand up to his mouth to cover the wide grin that pulls at his lips.

#vians.scribbs #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #getou x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x y/n

[tunatoge]

aahhhhh!!!! tysm, i’m glad u like that fic :) !!

julia’s favorites ! (iii)

♡ - fluff ; ♤ - angst ; ☆ - series

marvel

☆ deception - mob!bucky barnes

↳ @avecra

☆ monet issues - natasha romanoff ft. tony stark, avengers

↳ @arlana-likes-to-write

☆ masterlist - bucky barnes, steve rogers

♤♡ flashing lights (i) - paramedic!bucky barnes

♡ convalescence (ii) - paramedic!bucky barnes

♤ when he’s away - bucky barnes

♤ voicemails to an unmanned inbox - bucky barnes

♤ divine retribution - bucky barnes

↳ @pellucid-constellations

☆ Cержант - bucky barnes

☆ alone - bucky barnes

☆ obey - bucky barnes

♡ the owl and the wolf - bucky barnes

↳ @waiting4inspiration

♡ kiddo - bucky barnes

♡ for good - steve rogers

↳ @justauthoring

♡ hand holding - biker!steve rogers

↳ @angrythingstarlight (18+)

♤♡ initials - steve rogers, bucky barnes (poly!)

↳ @americancowgirl19

♡ grouch - bucky barnes

↳ @buckysfaveplum

♡♤ purgatory - bucky barnes

↳ @wkemeup

~

jujutsu kaisen

♡ stolen tigers - sukuna ft. itadori yuuji

↳ @mysicklove (18+)

♡ talent show - gojo satoru ft. fushiguro tsumiki, fushiguro megumi

↳ @tunatoge (18+)

♡ morning kisses - gojo satoru

↳ @riediaries

♡♤ just to be enough (i) - geto suguru, gojo satoru

♡ shoko just can’t be right (ii) - geto suguru, gojo satoru

♡ remind you of why (iii) - geto suguru, gojo satoru

↳ @justauthoring

♡ photobooth - nanami kento

♡ she’s everything. he’s just ken. - nanami kento

↳ @lemonlover1110

♡ cinnamon girl - kamo choso

↳ @just-jordie-things

♡♤ i worry for you, for you not know the danger you see - toji fushiguro, pregnant!reader

♡ baby mine - toji fushiguro, pregnant!reader

↳ @tojigasm (18+)

~

call of duty

♤ i see red (i) - simon ‘ghost’ riley

♡ i see red (ii) - simon ‘ghost’ riley

♤♡ wrong words - simon ‘ghost’ riley

↳ @milf-murdock

♡ hangry - simon ‘ghost’ riley

↳ @rileyslibrary

♡♤ simon hates seeing you cry - simon ‘ghost’ riley

♤♡ faking his own death - simon ‘ghost’ riley

↳ @cmncisspnandmore (18+)

♡ brother’s coworker - simon ‘ghost’ riley ft. john ‘soap’ mactavish

↳ @halcyone-of-the-sea (18+)

♡ off limits - simon ‘ghost’ riley

↳ @multi-fandom-imagine

~

my hero academia

♤♡ that cherished feeling - bakugo katsuki

↳ @justauthoring

♡ back off and look away - bakugo katsuki

↳ @celesteleoves

♡ nicknames - bakugo katsuki

↳ @ryukatters (16+)

~

tokyo revengers

♤ catalyst - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano

♡♤ serendipity - ken ‘draken’ ryuguji

↳ @justauthoring

♡ hidden relationship - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano

↳ @miniimight

♡ you’re too drunk to recognize your boyfriend - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano, ken ‘draken’ ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani, shuji hanma

↳ @chalkscene

~

marauders / harry potter

☆ come back, be here - sirius black, marauders

↳ @ellecdc

♡ drabble - remus lupin

♡ james comes to your rescue when you call him (drunk) - james potter

♡ james puts his finger in your mouth - james potter

↳ @luveline

#vian.talks

[tunatoge]

hello! Just wanted to let you know the fics about taking care of megumi and tsumiki are the cutesttt😭 I’ve reread them all multiple times now LOVE THEM

ahhhh!! thank you so much!! i’m soo glad u like them 😭😭 i rly rly enjoyed writing them!!

#vian.talks

[tunatoge]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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#vians.recs #OOOHH ANFJWKGE #gojo got me weak in the knees

[tunatoge]

my reqs are open! :) hop on by and shoot me a lil something something and i’ll do my best to write it!

i’m most comfortable writing for gojo and geto but will write for other characters :D

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[tunatoge]

pairing: teen!s. gojo x fem!reader (use of "mom")

contents: gojo fucks up tsumiki's talent show (whoopsies!), mention of smoking and swear words, slight slut shaming

“my parents are really cool—uh, hi mom… hi, satoru,” tsumiki announces to the group of students and parents during her talent show. you glance at gojo who holds his phone up like a proud dad, recording the entire thing as he gives tsumiki a thumbs up. “and they helped me with this,” she adds as she wrings her hands. “this is for you guys… and megumi.” 

you giggle as megumi shifts in his seat, his cheeks a soft pink. you stop laughing when an explicit song starts playing from the auditorium’s stereo system, tsumiki awkwardly dancing on stage to the music. you snap your head towards gojo, your mouth agape. gojo stands up as he whoops and hollers, still recording tsumiki. 

“that’s my daughter!” he shouts as parents rush to cover their kids’ ears. “yeah, tsumiki! you’re doing great!” 

you cover megumi’s ears as you step down on gojo’s right foot. “satoru,” you hiss angrily, watching from the corner of your eye as the school staff struggle to pause the music. “what the fuck is this?” 

he looks at you, his blue eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit room. “what? it’s a good song!” he insists. 

“yeah,” you say as the music pauses and tsumiki bows before skipping away. “for people our age while we’re out clubbing and drinking! that was so inappropriate for kids!” 

satoru sits down next to you, ignoring the way the other parents glare at him and curse him out under their breath. “she told me she wanted to stick out so i told her i knew what to do!” 

you frown and you uncup your hands from megumi’s ears. he glares at gojo with you, easily knowing gojo fucked up. 

“i thought we agreed you’d stop helping the kids with their talent shows after you told megumi that using jujutsu for a magic show was a good idea,” you hiss, briefly turning around and apologizing to the angry mom behind you who kicks at your feet. 

“god,” the mom hisses after seeing your face, “of course it’s some stupid teen parents.” 

you frown at her words, keeping megumi from jumping up and attempting to fight the lady. you excuse yourself, squeezing past knees as they look at you and glare. 

“did you hear what that little girl said?” someone whispers to their partner as you walk by. “she said mom and satoru, not dad. that’s gotta be one messed up family.” they snicker. 

you grit your teeth as you move towards the exit, quietly squeezing out the door and pulling a pack of cigarettes from your jacket pocket. you always knew you and gojo were going to face backlash for raising tsumiki and megumi while being kids yourselves, but you never thought you’d be facing it yourself after the kids had taken to calling you mom and refused to call satoru dad. you sigh and move away from the school building, taking a cigarette between your lips. you dig around for your zippo, frowning when you can’t find it. 

“i thought we agreed you’d stop smoking,” gojo says behind you. you look up at him, tsumiki in his arms and megumi next to him. 

you swallow as you place the cigarette back in its box. “not like i could’ve smoked it anyway,” you say as you take megumi’s hand in yours and walk towards the car. “i lost my lighter, the one suguru gave me.” 

“i have it.” you look at gojo as he digs around in his pocket and pulls out your tarnished silver zippo lighter. he flips it around and around in his hands, index finger gently running over the engraving on its side. “hand me your cigarettes and i’ll give it back to you.” 

you sigh as you unlock the car door and situate megumi into his car seat. “i don’t need it if i’m not smoking.” you buckle megumi in and gently ruffle his hair before shutting the door. 

gojo sighs as he sets tsumiki in the car and shuts the door. “what’s wrong?” he asks, rounding the car and taking your elbows into his overly large palms. he smooths them up your triceps, touch airy and light. “you only ever feel the need to smoke when something’s bothering you.” 

you sigh as you lean into his touch. “i’m just tired of people assuming i’m some whore who spreads their legs for anyone. it really hurts when parents look at me with so much disgust when tsumiki or megumi call me mom.” you lean forward and press your forehead into gojo’s firm chest. 

“y’know,” gojo starts as he rests his chin in your hair, “those parents probably would have never stepped up like you did. you gave up the rest of your childhood for theirs and those stupid adults will never know that.” he pulls away and carefully looks you in the eye. “they can assume as much as they want, pretty, because the four of us know the truth and the truth is much stronger.” 

you let out a choked laugh as you press your head back into his chest. “yeah, you’re right. they’re just some stupid old people.” 

gojo laughs as he fully wraps his arms around you, rocking you back and forth in the parking lot of tsumiki’s school. 

megumi swings his door open. “can we go home now?” he calls. “tsumiki’s tired.” 

you laugh as you pull away from gojo and wipe at your eyes. “yes, we can,” you respond, digging in your pockets and handing gojo your cigarettes. he smiles and hands you your zippo in return. “mom’s gotta have a long talk with dad once we get there.” 

gojo grins at the way you laugh at megumi’s scrunched up face. he’s thoroughly glad that it was you who stepped up with him.

[tunatoge]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ HOW DO YOU TURN THIS THING OFF? — LN4

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: fans love when you make appearances in landos streams. it’s usually because he doesn’t know where something is, and the internet goes crazy over their favorite certified himbo. on one stream, you get a taste of your own medicine when lando tasks you with turning the live feed off, and fans get a little more of an insight into your relationship

genre: established relationship, humour

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just tweeted

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user2 just made a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

liked by yourusername and 406,409 others

landonorris dinner date then stream, be there or be square, 6pm

view all comments

maxfewtrell did she have to show you how to use a knife and fork too?

yourusername i definitely had to show him how to fill my wine glass up when it was empty

user PUT Y/N ON THE STREAM WE WANT MORE Y/N

user if he comes on in a dress shirt i’m Dead

user oh they’ve all definitely seen the thread😭😭

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread

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yourusername this time it was my own stupidity that let the secret out. and i didn’t have to show him how to propose! he did it all on his own accord!

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user YOU’RE SUCH AN ICON

user only lando and y/n could accidentally expose their own engagement

user THE CAPTION😭😭 she really has kept him alive all these years huh

user ‘i wouldn’t want to think of a life without you anyway’ now if that’s not meant to be than what is

landonorris i love you

landonorris really quick whilst we’re at it,,, where tf do we keep the spare phone chargers?

yourusername oh.. oh baby. i’ll be home in 5

————

a/n: hELLO! so the snippet from this got over 200 notes and i couldn’t wait to post it because you all loved it so much!

for the rest of my wips, check out the wip game linked in my pinned post!!

all of your feedback over the last few days has made me so happy sjdjsjs, any thoughts please feel free to send i am having so much fun creating for you guys. i seriously appreciate every like comment ask and follow!! anon emojis are now listed in my bio so if you wanna chat a bunch, have a look at what’s free !

- giselle

taglist (found here): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35 @treehouse-house @iloveyou3000morgan

#vians.recs #absolutely a sucker for smaus #UGHHHH 😩

[tunatoge]

hiii !! i was just wondering if you could do an alternative ending to "take a slice - s. gojo x reader"? like reader books the tickets then they leave without saying goodbye? (up to you if you wanna add comfort) i would really appreciate if you accept this request, but if you dont wanna do it its fine !! remember to eat, sleep and drink, stay safe !!

hehe of course!! :D i hope you, too, also remember to eat, sleep, and drink water!!! happy new year, love!! ty for the req and i hope u enjoy !!

pairing: teen!gojo x teen!reader

contents: alternate ending to my drabble here!! picks up where reader hesitates to book tickets, kind of angsty (not too good at angst, but still kinda sad)

you sit in your dark and nearly empty dorm room with your laptop propped up on your knees. you have the cheapest plane tickets pulled up on the screen as you gnaw on your fingernails, wondering if this is really what you want to do. 

for nearly thirty thousand yen you could get a flight to the incheon international airport and away from your life as a jujutsu sorcerer. you know it wouldn’t last long until the higher ups found you in korea but you were ready to get even a little shred of normal, domestic living. right now, you couldn’t handle being a sorcerer after suguru’s defection and haibara’s death. you wanted out. 

your cursor hovers over the ‘complete transaction’ button as you think about how easy it would be to run away and how difficult it would be to restart your life. it’d be easier to stick around with satoru and shoko but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to want to. it’s tempting to throw everything you know away and restart from the beginning. you could finally think about dating someone without endangering them, or adopting a pet without potentially leaving it owner-less after an ill timed death. 

with a sharp breath, you confirm your transaction and watch as the website reloads before redirecting you to another page showing you your itinerary. you scramble out of bed and chuck a handful of oyur clothes into a large duffel and shove your laptop into your backpack. by the time you’re done, your room looks exactly the same but when you squint… your heart falls into your stomach at how sad and dark your room looks. 

hopefully, you think, satoru and shoko don’t notice how empty your closet is when they come looking for you in the morning. 

you leave your room, shutting the door with a soft click and padding down the hallway, your shoes in one hand and your duffel in the other. you stop by shoko’s room, listening from outside the door as she shifts in her sleep. you bite down on your lip as tears pool in your eyes, you realize you don’t have time to visit satoru’s room briefly. not when it’s so hugely plausible he would hear you and beg you to stay. not when you would end up agreeing and staying, just for him.

when you leave the dormitory, the sky is still dark and the air is breezy. your breath comes out in quick gentle puffs, the way suguru and shoko’s breath would when they would smoke cigarettes with each other. you grit your teeth and approach an auxiliary manager who waits standing next to a black car, the door already open. you greet them softly and tiredly as you load your things into the car and take a seat in the back. 

as you turn your head to look out the window, satoru and shoko stand in the dormitory doorway. shoko is dressed in her pajamas, the loose fabric of her pants billowing around her ankles, and satoru is dressed in a pair of shorts and a thick gray hoodie. his glasses are gone and he stares at you through the window, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. you think you see a tear slide down his wind-bitten cheeks. 

“would you like to stay?” the auxiliary manager asks you, watching you through the rearview mirror. 

“no,” you whisper softly, the single word spreading fog across the car window, “i have a flight to catch.” 

they don’t respond and instead put the car into drive, letting you quietly watch as satoru and shoko’s bodies melt away into the background. 

[tunatoge]

In From The Rain

Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!

Word Count: 7,167

Warnings: none

The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.

Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.

The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.

“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.

“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”

He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.

“Can I help you find something?” You ask.

He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.

“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.

You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.

He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.

You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.

“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”

“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”

He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”

You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.

“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”

You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”

He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”

“Which direction do your windows face?”

“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”

You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.

“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”

“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”

He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.

“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”

Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”

He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.

“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”

He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.

“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”

He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”

You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.

“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.

“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”

“Me too,” he says.

He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.

…..

Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.

“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.

His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”

“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.

You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.

“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”

That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.

“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”

He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”

“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”

He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”

You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.

“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.

He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.

“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”

“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”

He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”

You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”

He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.

Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.

“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”

You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.

…..

He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.

Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.

The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.

“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”

You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

“I know,” you laugh.

He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.

You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”

“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”

She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.

“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”

You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.

“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.

You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”

…..

Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.

“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.

You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”

“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”

You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.

I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar

You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.

The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.

…..

The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.

“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.

You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”

His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.

…..

Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.

“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”

You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.

“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”

He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”

You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.

“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”

He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.

“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”

He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.

…..

Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.

“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”

“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.

“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”

You laugh. “No, it’s not.”

You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.

“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“

Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.

“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”

You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.

“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.

“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”

His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”

You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”

You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.

You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”

“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.

He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.

“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

…..

When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.

You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.

“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.

He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”

You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.

“There,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”

You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.

“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”

“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.

You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.

“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.

“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.

You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.

“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”

You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”

You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”

The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.

“I’ll know for next time,” he says.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth deep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.

“Thank you,” you say, softly.

“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”

He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.

He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”

Then he disappears into the storm.

…..

You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.

It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.

Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.

You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”

“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”

The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”

“How is he, anyways?” You ask.

Logan frowns. “He’s good.”

You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”

“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”

Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.

Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”

You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”

“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”

“His last name’s Piastri.”

“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”

He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.

“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”

You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.

…..

Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you d coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.

You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.

“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.

You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.

“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”

“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”

You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”

Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”

You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.

“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”

Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”

Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”

“Of course,” he says.

Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.

Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”

You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.

He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”

You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.

You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.

You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.

“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”

“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”

He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.

He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”

You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.

“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”

You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.

You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”

“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“

You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”

He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”

Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”

Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.

“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”

“Pickup line?”

“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”

You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.

“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.

He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”

You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.

You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”

He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”

“It’s raining,” you remind him.

“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”

You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”

Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”

He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.

The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.

He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”

You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”

Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.

…..

Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.

“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.

Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.

“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”

You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.

“I believe it, too,” you tell him.

When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.

a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me

#vians.recs #so fucking cute oml #reminded me of my cactus i had when i was #like twelve or thirteen idk #but i named him spence #and he DIED like hella fast #i chucked him outside